What is it about
sky’s darkening hue
in early evening
in summer

that evinces a oneness
both staggering
and healing?
Whenever I return home

I feel deeply loved.
Meanwhile outside
I stand in holy contentment
by a gate smothered in Bougainvillea.

Saunter slowly
like cool fingering breeze
wait for lone hawk
to rattle up from the ground.

Whatever else fills my days—
music, fashioning verse
wherever else I live—
with evanescence longings

I anchor myself deeply
in this ineffable, intimate place
this earth,
which itself is breathing.

Tonight, I feel a hum of delight
circling through me
shattering limiting languishes.
Time seems to lengthen.

A few steps from my door
a gaggle of magpies
black and white and saucy
as a masquerade party

have taken over the yard.
And the moon’s thin white smile
sends a passionate coax
to step out again and again.